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Bran
Look who decided to finally acknowledge my existence.
Come fucking outside, Brandon.
Where? Please don’t tell me you’re here.
Outside. Now.
Fine. You’re such a joy today.
I narrow my eyes at the phone. Of course I’m not a joy compared to that clownRemington.
Bran even once said, “He’s just so funny.” He fuckingisn’t.
My muscles are about to snap from how wound up and tight they feel. Two weeks on a high is just too long and I don’t sense any signs of coming down anytime soon.
I took the pills the night I punched Bran, because I couldn’t trust myself anymore. I had to admit that I was losing control.
They didn’t help. Unless nearly fucking drowning in the pool is considered help.
Still, I took three of them earlier so that I won’t do something I’ll regret. The thought of hurting him fucking terrifies me. But I don’t think they’re working. The urge to punch someone is greater than I can contain.
I should’ve stayed away.
I really shouldn’t be here—
My heart rate picks up when I catch a glimpse of Bran striding hurriedly toward me. He knows the exact place where I’ll be waiting.
God-fucking-damn-it. I’ve missed him and his sophisticated presence. The plain black shorts and the gray T-shirt do nothing to hide his fit physique.
His hair is in a bit of a mess, falling haphazardly over his forehead, making him look more human instead of his uptight side.
He comes to a halt in front of me and his expression slowly shifts from anger to…softness? Since when does he soften?
“We could’ve met in the penthouse. You didn’t have to come here. Not that I didn’t want you to be here…”
I stare at him and keep my mouth shut. I don’t trust myself not to snap right now.
“Nikolai, listen.” He rounds the bike and stands in front of me. “There are a lot of things I want to talk to you about. I actually spoke to my friends and Glyn and—”
“Shut the fuck up.” I grab him by the throat and shove him against the tree’s trunk. “I’m not here to talk.”
I crash my lips to his and he releases a startled sound, but I swallow it the fuck up. He tastes of lemon, ginger, and honey.
He tastes like my imminent downfall.
I thrust my tongue against his, slurping, tugging, and biting until he moans.
He moans for me as if he’s been fucking waiting for this. As if he didn’t already replace me with someone else.
“Niko…wait.” He wrenches his lips away.
“I’m done waiting.” I chase his mouth, then claim it again. He pulls on my hair, but I feel nothing. No pain. No thoughts.
Just fucking blind possessiveness.
Twisted desire.
